DINNER WITH CHANTEL © Krista Detor, Cover Their Eyes Paris wasn't lit the way I thought it would be lit A photograph or two – maybe a chance, a postcard view But no sparkle in the wine – love to compare It's just a city, another city, and paper falls out of the air Newspaper ad, a playing card, a morning magazine, a candy wrapper A crust of bread gone stale – an apple underneath the rail The pavement grayer still, no shadow dancing upon it And Paris wasn't lit the way it should be lit Paris wasn't wine and cheese, no pretty fleur-des-lis A sudden breeze, the leaves fell to the street and down among the ashes Cold coq au vin, an old baguette – left on an empty bed A busy city, oh mais oui, and children hide beneath the thread A stolen beer shared on a bet, the tangled hair – A cigarette is burning low A secret kept in empty bellies, in the doorways hiding out Like pebbles left upon the shore – spit from the sea And Paris wasn't wine and cheese, no not for me Paris never had me singing in the rain, no April rain – No umbrella to dance under, no framboise with my champagne No eyes that met at last – no reverie, no lovers' play It's just a city by a river and cars go by, go on their way A red tail light, a pa**ing glance, a foggy window – And he looked like you, someone I knew from very long ago Lights were sparkling low, the sweet tableau – But was it Italy or Spain? And Paris never had me singing in the rain… No, Paris never had me singing in the rain…